


Coming Home

by ravensingsfire



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Battle Scars, Candle Light, M/M, Slash, brief mentions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensingsfire/pseuds/ravensingsfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being declared missing for months, Ezio returns to his closest friend to find that more than just his feelings were being repressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

Leonardo da Vinci tried, unsuccessfully, to finish the painting before him. Just a few more brush strokes. Just a few more. He repeated the mantra in his head as he dipped the horse-hair brush in the red pigment. But the paint never touched the canvas. The madonna in the picture stared at him blankly much like she did when she modeled for him on the chaise three days before. It was a nude commission, her husband wanted it hung in their bedroom, and the woman was covered only by a long red ribbon draped over her breasts and then wrapped between her legs. Any other artist, Leonardo knew, would have been distracted by her uncovered beauty. Leonardo only found him slightly interested in the differences between her and…

No! his mind screamed out. Focus. Mustn't think of him. It had been months since his friend, temporary roommate, and secret obsession had been gone without warning or explanation. He was used to it, of course. Ezio Auditore da Firenze was an assassin by birth after all. Yet, Leonardo could not help but worry. Usually Ezio would leave for a few days or a week before stumbling back, half-dead, chased by Templar guards, in the midst of mercenaries, or dragged, hidden behind the skirts of courtesans and aided by thieves. Sometimes he would return unscathed with encoded pages from his ancestor's codex, bragging of the ease that he stole it from the Spaniard and the Templars.

The brush hovered over the canvas, ready to fill in the basic shape of the ribbon, so much akin to Ezio's sash and hair tie. Two months had been a long time. Much too long. Leonardo had spent every night since the first week pacing the floor, hoping his assassino would burst through the gloomy Venetian night with a page from the Codex and a bottle of wine. He would almost prefer the courtesans to bring him in, bleeding, than the half-wonderings fluttering through his brain. He fell from a roof that was too tall. Or he got caught in a Templar trap. Or he drowned in the Venetian canals. Or… Leonardo shook his head violently and put down his now drying paints and brush. The canvas would not be finished tonight. It was now time to pace again.

He knew that if Ezio did die, it had to be recently, without the guards notice. Wanted posters were popping up throughout Venezia, all with Ezio's scowling visage. He was being hunted again. He needed a place to hide, and Leonardo was usually the one to hide him. His meeting with the petite thief Rosa earlier in the week told him that Ezio had not checked in with the theives' guild, and Teodora also denied Ezio's presence in the bordello. Surely Ezio wasn't hiding from him? Perhaps he had heard of Leonardo's attraction? No. Ezio would have confronted me, not run away, he assured himself. In his recent state of mind, though, it seemed possible.

Fatigue began to wear down his mind, and only then did he notice the dwindling state of his candles. I have to stop worrying this late into the night. Candles are expensive. He began snuffling them out one by one, stopping only when he heard a tentative knock on the door. His head snapped quickly, and, unthinkingly, he rushed to greet the late night visitor, forgetting for the moment about the last candle.

He ripped open the door, shocked when he was face-to-face with the object of his every thought for two months.

"Leonardo," Ezio sounded relieved. "I didn't think you would be awake."

Leonardo, however, was not paying attention to his friend's words. He could only think, Ezio. Ezio is back.

In his surprise and shock, he gasped and slammed the door on the assassin. Slumping against it, he tried to slow his heart which seemed to be beating within his throat.

Ezio knocked again. "Leonardo?" he called. The artist's breath caught at the hesitation in the young man's voice. "Is something wrong?"

"Um…" Merde! Now what? "Everything's fine," he called back as he slid down to sit against the door, panting. He had imagined so many conversations he and the killer would have when the damned man finally reappeared, but now the Ezio Auditore was at his doorstep, probably wanting admittance, Leonardo was stumped as to what to do.

"Leonardo?" Ezio called again. "May I come in? The guard is coming back."

"Just give me a minute." To push away this surprise.

"Amico mio. We don't have a minute."

Leonardo took a huge breathe, stood quickly, and threw open the door. The dizziness from his self-surprising sudden movement left him blind as a blurry figure entered his workshop and home and shut the door, locking it. He slumped against the wall, instantly exhausted; yet still his joy over Ezio's return left his skin tingling and heart pounding.

"Leonardo?" Ezio shook the older man gently, breaking him from his reverie. "Are you alright, my friend?"

"Of course! Why wouldn't I be?" The artist shook off the dizziness and Ezio simultaneously. "Come in! Come in! How have you been?"

"Bene. Are you sure you're feeling fine, Leonardo? You look sick," Ezio was suddenly holding his chin. Leonardo swallowed. Ezio seemed extremely close to his face.

"Really, it's nothing!" he exclaimed, pushing on the assassin's chest to move him, but Ezio was stronger and stood his ground. Finally after several attempts to break away, Leonardo relaxed fully. "I've just been tired lately," he reached up to grab the wrist of the hand clutching his chin, brushing the hidden blade lightly, the second unprotected one. It was cold despite being so close to Ezio's skin. "Come," he simply told the assassin, "you must want to get out of that armor."

Ezio grunted an affirmation, slipping his hand away from the artist's face to remove the blades on his wrists. Leonardo reached for Ezio's left shoulder to loosen the cape and allow it to fall to the floor. It fluttered like a macabre butterfly, dying in its flight. The ties to the chest plate were next in Leonardo's attack. The heavy metal landed with a dull clunk on the carpet. Leonardo noticed the dents then for the first time. He ran his fingers over the plate's face, rubbing over the biggest indention. It was not unlike the size and shape of the war hammers that some of the guard captains preferred. The plate itself had crimson stains on its interior. Leonardo looked to Ezio's robe-front. Dried blood covered it, days old yet still fresh enough to retain a bit of its crimson bloom. Worry reappeared in the forefront of Leonardo's queuing emotions.

"Ezio, amico mio, what happened?" The artist was panicked now, nearly pushing the assassin down to view his chest, to insure he was whole. Once he had the shirt fully opened, he surveyed the damage; the skin underneath was deeply bruised; the muscles tainted to a deep purple and black like velvet. A still healing wound ran over where Ezio's rib was, long and ragged as if the bone had pierced the flesh and then was repaired. He ran his fingers over the broad chest and usually tanned skin carefully, whispering comforts to the young man when he pressed too hard and elicited a hiss of pain.

"A guard," Ezio finally answered after several minutes of the treatment. "He became brave enough to circle behind me when his friend took a swing at me. As I dodge the damn hammerhead, the idiota grabbed me from behind. The other guard hit me twice in the chest before I could get away." His hand covered Leonardo's where it rested on the strong abdomen of the killer. "I broke two ribs—one punctured the skin; the doctor repaired it."

Leonardo's breath caught as he fingered the scab on Ezio's chest; it would become another scar out of the many. It was extremely noticeable, an angry red stripe in such a sea of black and purple and pain and beauty. The scientist surveyed Ezio now that his shirt was partially removed. Even with the marks of battle, tanned skin glowed in the dimly lit room. The hand holding his left against the abdomen was warm, like always, with no need to cool. He was a tortured saint, a symbol for his own cause thrown about like a ship in a storm. Everything about the man seemed to wish for flight. Even still as he was, Ezio seemed ready to sprout the wings of his namesake and fly away. On impulse, Leonardo reached up with his free hand and released the younger man's hair from the crimson ribbon as if it were a trigger for those wings.

"What are you thinking about, my friend?" Ezio sounded uncertain, nervous. Leonardo da Vinci quickly gathered his senses and tore himself away from the damaged beauty before him.

"Nothing, Ezio. My apologies." For thinking of these sins against you. Leonardo could feel his cheeks heat up in the dim of the room. Images of Ezio "flying" on a high only the artist could bring surged through his mind. "The guest room is open if you are tired."

"Grazie."

There was silence as Leonardo stared at the floor and Ezio at Leonardo. The hand reappeared at the inventor's chin lifting it, and hesitant lips grazed his. The artist closed his eyes and leaned in to properly kiss the younger man. A surprised gasp reached his ears as Ezio returned the kiss with vigor. A tongue, nervous like the first brush of their mouths, touched Leonardo's lips, which he opened to allow the assassin to enter and deepen the kiss.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, tongues invading and searching while soft and calloused hands met each other between the two men's chest. Then they broke away to look in each other eyes.

"I missed you," Leonardo whispered, leaning into the assassin's chest, careful not to press against the bruised flesh.

"I missed you too," Ezio hummed, burying his face in Leonardo's hair. The assassin slowly wrapped his arms around the painter's waist, slipping one hand down to grasp the man's ass. With a gasp, their hands began moving at the same time and suddenly, Leonardo's to remove the rest of Ezio's armor and Ezio's to begin opening the artist's own shirt.

Both shirtless and innocently toeing off their boots, the two men crashed their lips back together forcibly, not wanting to waste time. The moment was instantly there, and neither was going to allow it to pass by. Pressure below, hips pressing against each other. Twin gasps rang through the night, followed by passionate moans.

"How long?" the assassin groaned. "How long have you wanted this?"

"Since you carried my paintings for your mother," the artist admitted. The younger man moaned in his ear and hissed when he pressed the elder against him tightly. The artist tried to pull away to save the assassin from more pain, but his efforts were met by a soft "No. Just stay."

Ezio allowed the pain to subside before grabbing Leonardo's ass again to press the artist's hips against him harder. Clothed arousals met as they rocked against each other. Any previous tiredness or pain in either man was quickly forgotten as lips met again with a clash of tooth and tongue.

Hands, uncontrolled, suddenly grasped at each other's breeches, struggling with the ties in haste to remove the offensive garment. Ezio broke through first, shoving his hand into the front of Leonardo's bottoms and stroked the artist's erection confidently. The inventor gasped, and with another kiss, pulled the assassin to the chaise lounge, falling backwards on top of it. Ezio hovered over him, hand still stroking him with increasing need, the dark brown hair falling like a curtain around them. Slowly, struggling against the pleasure that was diluting his senses, Leonardo slipped his hand into Ezio's own breeches, grasping the full erection tightly. The assassin moaned lowly, rocking against the artist's hand.

Their breeches were soon discarded, adding to the scattered mess of the elder's workshop. The two men took no notice to the chaos though, pressing against each other with gasps and moans, relishing in the sweet heat of sex. Their hands were exploring chests, hair, thighs, their fingers drawing invisible lines in each other's flesh as hip met hip and tongues raged war.

Ezio laid himself fully on top of Leonardo, grinding down harshly with a roll of his hips. They were coming towards that edge quickly; neither had been touched in months or, as in the artist's case, years.

Completion came as a wave, covering both of them in a slow heat, rising with their peak and then softening as they fell back to reality. The younger fell to the side, both to avoid crushing the artist and avoid bumping the bruises on his chest. The artist, refusing to let go of the comforting warmth, wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist, pressing the muscled back to his chest. The assassin didn't protest.

"How long?" Leonardo finally spoke after several moments, repeating Ezio's question from before their tryst.

Ezio blushed, the pink warmth of embarrassment spreading from his cheeks to his neck and shoulders in an instant. He coughed to clear his throat. "A while," he finally mumbled out. "I…" The artist pressed his lips between the broad shoulders to give the younger man strength, but it only served to make the man more nervous.

"I have been thinking for the past year." The statement was hesitant.

"About?" urged the artist.

"Us…" the assassin took a deep breath. "I don't know when but I…" Never before had it been so hard for Ezio to speak his mind, but he reminded himself that with their previous actions there was little doubt that Leonardo would accept him.

"I…somehow…fell in…" He spoke brokenly, as awkward as he should had been earlier in life.

"It's okay. I know. I feel the same."

Ezio turned in Leonardo's arms to smile at him. "Can I call this home?"

"Of course, amico mio."

And with that, they both fell asleep. In the dimness, their only witness, a short thin candle, winked away, throwing the couple into darkness until morning.


End file.
